As Dreamers Do
by SunshineInSpring
Summary: In which Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy learn to cope with their fearful dreams, or lack thereof throughout their reign, and back in Finchley, with a little help from Aslan.


**A/N: Well, this was unexpected! I sat down hoping to write a companion piece to Of Fools and Foolishness, and this happened instead! I am really happy with it, though, and I hope you enjoy it too! It's a look at how the events of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe impacted on the siblings at night in different ways, through nightmares, and lack thereof, and how that, and their ways of coping changed when they returned home to Finchley. I hope you enjoy this, and let me know in a review! (Notice: Anything you recognise is not mine, I neither wrote or own the world of Narnia.)**

Peter's nightmares left him flying awake, all at once. As the High King, his hands flew to the ever present sword and shield gifted to him by Father Christmas all that time ago, and he flew to his feet, ready to defend his family against the threats long since dead. His hands clenched tightly around those weapons, and terror gripped his heart, causing it to race as though he had travelled back through the years and fought once again in that fateful, terrible battle. The nightly flashbacks had journeyed with him through the years, from the night after the event, each presenting with as much clarity as the battle itself, causing never ceasing fear for the siblings he fought for, and tried so hard to protect.

He always yearned, then, to finish the memory that his mind played out on those obsidian nights, the Battle of Beruna (as it had later come to be known), which had been the opening chapter to their reign as the monarchs of Narnia. As his mind began to clear a little, he pulled himself into the present, fear still fogging the edges of reality, mixing with the terror that eternally accompanied those flashbacks, causing him to clamber out of the bed, and stumble from his chambers, hands still gripping weapons, ready, as Sir Peter Wolfsbane, for any attack.

Peter edged down the darkened hallways of Cair Paravel, apprehensively opening the doors to the chambers belonging to each of his siblings in turn. As he reassured himself of their safety, at least for that night, his heart rate returned to the norm, and his hands loosened around his weapons. And, with each step back to his rooms, and fitful sleep, a shadowy lion on the walls dogged his steps.

All those many years later, back in Finchley, when he was young again, that same memory left Peter flying awake almost each night. His arms flailed out, reaching for swords that he no longer possessed, eager to again vanquish those same enemies, long since dead. Heart racing, he reassured himself with a glance over at the bed where Edmund slept. Then, again from instinct, (and mostly fear), he swung his feet out of his too-small bed, into too-small slippers and padded down the hall, to the room where his sisters slept. Fear abated, at least for the night, he returned to his room, and settled back onto his too- small bed, kicked off his too-small slippers, and let his too-small body rest. Just before sleep claimed him as its own, he thought he saw, in the shadows on the wall in front of his bed, a great lion, who tossed his head in the firelight. Peter blinked, and the lion was gone. Perhaps it had never been there. Perhaps, maybe just at night, sometimes, the worlds were not as separate as they had all thought. Still, as Peter turned his head away, and perhaps he couldn't help the breathy whisper that passed his lips, out into the silent night, before slipping away into a peaceful dream.

 _Aslan, please, protect my family._

Queen Susan the Gentle was not prone to nightmares of battles, as she preferred to stay at the Cair to nurture and aid citizens than endure the violence and deaths that dogged those forsaken fields. No, Susan's nights were not filled with bloody memories, or fear for the lives of her siblings. And yet, they were filled with fear of a kind. Susan's mind was growing conflicted, the longer they stayed in Narnia, that beautiful country, over which they ruled. Already Lucy struggled to remember their life in Finchley, and the boys enjoyed playing Kings too much to care for the days they had left behind. Often, Susan lay awake at night, thinking over the world they had left, the world that she had loved so dearly, before sighing, rising and settling at her dressing table. She picked up a silver-backed brush, and began the calming motions of passing it through her hair. Oh, she loved Narnia, yet it was so fantastical. Susan lived for logic, things that she could understand. And so often, these days, she did not understand her siblings. Peter would ride off into battle, wielding weapons, and she would be left to fear for his life. Edmund would ride off too, with maps and tactical books. The knowledge of how to win rode with him (the knowledge of how to kill). And little Lucy! She too vanished off into wars, with little regard for anything except that bottle of healing potion. The awful sights she must see! If only… Susan shook her head, rose from the stool, and returned to her bed, blowing out her candle as she did so. Before the light left in the room, a lion flickered for a moment in the mirror.

Back in Finchley, Susan's nights were no less conflicted. Her siblings talked daily about their lives in Narnia, and how much they missed it. Susan, too, missed the freedoms that had come with their adult lives. No evacuation or school, for starters, and the lack restricting rules of fashion for Daughters of Eve had meant she was free to set her own trends. And yet, guilt still dogged her steps, catching her at night before sleep claimed her. She could not admit to her siblings her relief, and yet, she was relieved, at the safety of England compared with Narnia, despite the war that still raged. The boys were not old enough to fight here, and Lucy would not have to experience those horrors. Susan sat in her bed, next to Lucy's and caught her image in the small mirror on the wall. Dark circles marred her eyes, the result of many hours pondering her guilty feelings, her delight at being home, her empathy for her siblings' pain. Her hair was askew from her tossing and turning, and she used her hands to straighten it (no silver-backed brushes adorned her bedroom in Finchley). But this night she saw, as she had not when she had been older, in Narnia, the flickering image of a lion in the mirror, with love in its' eyes, and she turned, hopefully, to the space beside her, only to find it empty. As she turned back to the mirror which held just her own image, she shook her head at her own stupidity and resolved to aid her sibling's in learning how to live in England again. But as she settled back into her pillow, she could not help but whisper to the darkened room, silent apart from Lucy's soft breaths;

 _Aslan, please give them the strength to live here now._

Edmund's thoughts always grew louder in his mind at night, causing him to spring from his bed in a cacophony of fear and self-torment, and pace his extensive chambers. As he walked, his mind turned, and words uttered under his breath became a mantra of confusion and anguish. Why, he questioned over and over, as he had many nights since that fateful day, why had Aslan chosen to save him? Why, when it had been Edmund's own, stupid prideful ignorance that had landed him in such a predicament to begin with? What had Aslan seen that had caused him to defy the White Witch's claim on Edmund, who was, actually, a traitor to Narnia? And how could Edmund ever repay that debt, what could he do to live up to that mark? How could Edmund be the man that Aslan had saved him to become?

That self-hatred bubbled up inside him, until he could pace no longer, and he stopped, standing in the centre of the room, staring into the fire. Fire, which burns away all that is not pure, like Aslan himself. Fire, from which Edmund's moniker had been derived. After all, the Just King needed the divining power of fire to see authenticity and make a true judgement, as he himself had been judged. Shaking his head, he decided to put that pent-up energy to a better use, than self-directed aggression, and turned his attention towards the strategy plans laid out on his desk. He would get no sleep that night. And as the dark head bent over the papers, Edmund did not see, in the honest flames, the image of a roaring lion, which burned clear and true all night, as he worked.

In Finchley, with no strategies to write during those long, hateful nights, Edmund sat, staring into the small fire that warmed the room that he shared with Peter. He could not pace, to rid himself of the pent-up energy as the room was not even long enough for two strides, and the beds took up most of the minimal space there was. He could not even speak his confusion aloud, without waking his brother, who, for once, slept soundly, unperturbed by memories of a past long ago, when they had been men, not boys.

When Edmund could atone for the damage that he had done, by planning the battles that protected his people. When he could see the truth in a plea, and cast a meaningful verdict in the name of Aslan. When he could make a difference. Now, a boy again, carrying a burden that could not be shared, knowledge which a boy should not have, and a fear which could not be vanquished, he stared into the fire in despair. And, as they had that night so long ago, and yet, when Edmund was a grown man, the flames shifted to show the image of a lion, golden mane tossing and glinting in the blaze. Edmund's eyes narrowed, as his mind contemplated the idea of Aslan in the flames (for there was no doubt in his mind that it was Aslan, after all, fire burnt away lies). And he couldn't help but whisper to the great Lion, vocalise, as he had all that time ago, the fears that always burned in his heart. As he did, his heart felt warm, and the insecurities burned gradually away, a comfort that lulled him back to sleep, the echoing question finally answered in his heart;

 _Aslan, why did you think me worthy?_

In Narnia, Lucy's nightmares were as varied and wide-ranging as the experiences she had had. Often, memories of the Battle of Beruna (as the centaurs had named it), played out, fears of not being fast enough with her cordial to save her people, not being fast enough to save Edmund. These dreams left her rousing all at once, springing from dreaming to waking, gasping as her mind caught up with itself, reminding her that she had been fast enough, that she had saved so many, that she had saved Edmund.

Other nights, she lay awake, doubting her ability to aid her siblings in governing Narnia. After all, she had just been a child when Aslan had crowned them all, what could she possibly do to help? How could Aslan trust her to lead people, when she was in need of so much guidance herself? What could she do to prove that she was enough? And then, on all of these nights, after nightmares, after hours of tossing and turning, after questioning herself and her worth, her thoughts would turn to those of regret, and she would mourn her failings to save so many, at each of the battles that she attended.

How could she call herself Queen, if she could not save all of her peoples from death? She rose from the bed, and wandered over to her balcony, which faced east, overlooking the ocean, and the entrance to Aslan's country. As she turned her face towards the horizon, a gentle breeze danced across her cheeks, clearing her mind of its troubles, and leaving her the strength to continue. As she turned back towards her bed, Lucy glanced at the shore, and, seeing a shadow near the waters, called out into the unresponsive night;

 _Thank you, Aslan._

Back in Finchley, Lucy did not suffer the same crippling nightmares, guilt or self-loathing that her siblings struggled with. Lucy whispered aloud each night to Aslan, asking for His aid in these matters, and, though she never saw His presence, was rewarded with the lessening of the dark circles around Susan's eyes, the relief of the weight on Peter's shoulders, and the absence of pain in Edmund's eyes. And yet, Lucy was not free herself of nightly torment. Though her dreams were not unpleasant, quite the opposite, for Lucy spent each night dreaming of her days in Narnia, she was left waking unsure of where she was. And when she realised, inevitably, that she was not at home, in Narnia, with the Fauns, and Centaurs, and Dryads, rather in a small room, in Finchley, with that everlasting war still raging, she was overcome with unbearable home-sickness.

Tears that she refused to let fall in her eyes, she stood shakily on the uncomfortable bed, reaching for the high, east-facing window that was mockingly just out of reach, desperate to feel the wind on her face. Defeated by the small stature her body now held, she sank back on to her bed, to the sound of a deep chuckle. Lucy whipped around, coming face to face with the great lion that about filled the small space between the beds. Lucy smiled happily, joy blooming in her heart, and reached her small arms around him, pulling herself to him. Aslan let a purr rumble deep in his chest, and, after Lucy had hugged Him for a while, she pulled back and wiped at her eyes. "You can't stay, can you? And you can't let me come back?" Lucy murmured, unwilling to wake Susan. The look in Aslan's eyes confirmed the negative, and her head hung, the hope that had bloomed in her chest freezing momentarily.

"I cannot, dear one," Aslan replied, soft as she, "For now is your time to live in this world, all four of you. Know, however, that I will always be with you, even if you cannot see me, and have heart, for Narnia may have need of you yet." With that, Lucy felt the homesickness alleviate, and, with a nod from Aslan, settled back into her bed and was soon soundly asleep. When she awoke the next morning, Aslan was gone with no proof that he had ever been there, except the lightness of her chest, and the hope in her heart, and the truth that burned in her mind. As she pulled back the curtains, and Susan stirred in the next bed, Lucy spoke softly into the light that poured from the small window;

 _Thank you, Aslan._

 **A/N: Well, there you have it, As Dreamers Do!... (And yes, I did take the title from a film title, but I thought that it fitted, so used it!). I found this really interesting to write, and had a lot of fun exploring what each of the siblings feared/dealt with both in Narnia and back in England. I added Aslan on a whim, but thought it worked and so kept him... Let me know what you thought in a review, and hopefully I'll be back soon with another story; again, let me know if you have any requests! Thanks for reading!**


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